THE PROFESSOR'S OBSESSION

CHAPTER 3

Friday took forever to arrive.

I changed my outfit four times. The black dress was too obvious. The blue one too innocent. The red screamed "f**k me" so loudly I could barely look at myself in the mirror.

I settled on emerald green—silk, hitting mid-thigh, with a neckline that showed just enough cleavage to be devastating without trying too hard. I left my hair down in loose waves and kept my makeup simple. Natural. Like I hadn't spent two hours agonizing over every detail.

Like I wasn't about to cross a line that could ruin both our lives.

My phone buzzed at 7:45. A text from an unknown number: Apartment 4501. Don't knock. Just come in.

My hands were shaking as I got in my car.

The elevator ride up to the forty-fifth floor felt like a descent into hell. Or heaven. I couldn't tell which. My reflection stared back at me from the polished doors—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, lips I'd bitten raw from nerves.

What was I doing? This was insane. He was my professor. This could get him fired, get me expelled, destroy everything we'd both worked for.

The elevator dinged.

I stepped out before I could change my mind.

His door was at the end of the hallway. I stood in front of it for what felt like hours, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. Last chance to turn back. Last chance to be smart, be rational, be the good girl I'd always been.

I turned the handle.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the city lights streaming through those massive windows and a few strategically placed candles. Soft jazz played from hidden speakers. And there, standing by the windows with his back to me, was Richard.

He'd changed since class. Gone were the professional slacks and button-down. Now he wore dark jeans that hung low on his hips and a black henley with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it, and he held a glass of whiskey that caught the light.

He didn't turn around.

"Lock the door."

The command in his voice sent heat pooling between my thighs. I turned and locked it, the click obscenely loud.

"Good girl." He took a slow sip of his drink. "Now come here."

I crossed the room on shaking legs. When I was close enough to touch him, he finally turned around, and the look in his eyes nearly brought me to my knees.

Hunger. Raw, undisguised hunger.

"You wore the dress." His gaze dragged over me, slow and thorough, like he was cataloging every inch. "Turn around."

"Richard—"

"Turn. Around."

I did, slowly, and I heard him make a low sound in his throat. The dress dipped low in the back, exposing my spine, and I felt the weight of his stare like a physical touch.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" His voice was closer now, right behind me. "I had six office hours this week. Six. And every single one, I imagined bending you over my desk."

I couldn't breathe.

"I had to cancel two meetings because I couldn't stand up without everyone seeing how hard I was just from looking at you in class." His breath ghosted across my bare shoulder. "You raised your hand on Wednesday. Do you remember?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"You bit your pen before you answered. Right here." His finger traced my bottom lip, and I gasped. "And I spent the rest of that lecture imagining those lips wrapped around my cock."

"Jesus, Richard—"

"I had a reputation before you." His finger trailed down my throat, my collarbone, the valley between my breasts. "I was the consummate professional. The professor who never even looked at students that way. And now?" His hand settled on my hip, pulling me back against him. I could feel him, hard and thick against my ass. "Now I'm breaking every rule I ever made. And I can't bring myself to care."

I ground back against him, and his grip on my hip tightened.

"Careful," he growled. "I'm trying to be a gentleman."

"Maybe I don't want a gentleman." I turned in his arms, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. "Maybe I want the man who f****d me against a wall and made me forget my own name."

Something snapped in him.

His mouth crashed into mine, hard and demanding, all pretense of control gone. I opened for him immediately, and his tongue swept past my lips with a groan that I felt in my bones. He tasted like whiskey and sin, and I couldn't get enough.

His hands were everywhere—in my hair, on my waist, sliding down to grip my ass and lift me. My legs wrapped around him automatically, and he walked us backward until my back hit the window. The glass was cold against my bare skin, the city sprawling forty-five stories below, and the contrast made me gasp.

"I've been thinking about this all week." He yanked down the top of my dress, exposing my breasts, and his mouth closed over my n****e. I cried out, my hands fisting in his hair. "Thinking about tasting you. Touching you."

"Richard, please—"

"Please what?" He switched to my other breast, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. "Tell me what you want, Ava. Be specific."

"I want—" My voice broke as his hand slid up my thigh, under my dress. "I want you inside me."

His fingers found my panties—lace, soaked through—and he groaned. "f**k, you're already so wet. Is this for me?"

"Yes. God, yes, it's all for you—"

He ripped my panties off. Actually ripped them, the sound of tearing fabric loud in the quiet apartment. Then his fingers were there, sliding through my wetness, circling my c**t with maddening precision.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I did. His eyes were black with lust, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.

"I need you to understand something." He pushed two fingers inside me, and my back arched off the window. "This isn't just s*x for me. This isn't just some forbidden thrill."

"Then what—oh god—" He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.

"You undo me, Ava." Another finger, stretching me, filling me. "You walk into my classroom and I forget how to breathe. You bite that f*****g pen and I lose my train of thought. You exist, and suddenly nothing else matters."

He pulled his fingers out and I whimpered at the loss. But then I heard his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper, and anticipation coiled tight in my belly.

"I'm forty years old," he said, rolling on a condom with shaking hands. "I've built an entire career on control, on discipline, on doing the right thing. And you—" He positioned himself at my entrance. "You make me want to burn it all down."

He thrust in, hard and deep, and I screamed.

"That's it." His hips snapped against mine, driving deeper. "Let them hear you. Let the whole f*****g city know who's making you feel this good."

I couldn't have stayed quiet if I wanted to. He filled me completely, stretched me to the point of pleasure-pain, and every thrust hit something inside me that made rational thought impossible.

"You feel so good." His mouth was on my neck, my jaw, my mouth. "So f*****g perfect. Like you were made for me."

"Harder," I gasped. "Please, Richard, I need—"

He adjusted his grip, hitched my legs higher, and the new angle made him hit even deeper. The window behind me rattled with each thrust, and somewhere in my lust-fogged brain I thought about it breaking, about us falling forty-five stories still locked together.

I didn't care.

"Touch yourself," he growled. "I want to feel you come around me."

My hand slipped between us, finding my c**t, and the added stimulation made my entire body tighten. I was close, so close, teetering on that edge—

"Look at me when you come." His hand fisted in my hair, forcing my head back, making me meet his eyes. "I want to see it. Want to watch you fall apart."

His next thrust sent me over.

I came with a scream that echoed through the apartment, my whole body seizing, clenching around him so hard he groaned. The o****m seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure that left me shaking.

"f**k, Ava—" His rhythm faltered, became erratic. "I'm going to—"

"Come for me," I whispered. "Please, Richard, I want to feel it."

He buried his face in my neck and came with a roar, his whole body going rigid as he emptied himself inside me. We stayed like that for long moments, both of us trembling, fighting to catch our breath.

Finally, he pulled out carefully and lowered me to my feet. My legs were shaking so badly I had to hold onto him.

"Okay?" His hand cupped my face, surprisingly gentle after the rough passion.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He carried me to the couch, grabbed a throw blanket, and wrapped us both in it. For a while, we just sat there in the quiet, his arms around me, my head on his chest.

"This is dangerous," he finally said.

"I know."

"If anyone finds out—"

"They won't."

His arms tightened around me. "I'm not sure I can stop. Even knowing what's at stake."

I tilted my head back to look at him. In the dim light, he looked younger, vulnerable in a way he never did in class. "Then don't stop."

"Ava—"

"Don't stop, Richard. Whatever this is, wherever it goes... I'm in. Completely."

He kissed me then, slow and deep, and it felt like a promise.

Like a beginning.

Like the start of something that would either save us both or destroy us completely.